Operation: Lady Face
by Alice Itoko
Summary: Sue Sylvester is definitely not psychotic. She just really hates Will Schuester's hair. Right? When it all gets too much for Sue, she hatches an ancient plan. With the help of her sidekick Lady Face, can she destroy those curls for good? Eventual Kurt/OC.
1. Musings

Disclaimer: I don't own Glee. Ryan Murphy, Brad Falchuk, Ian Brennan and their associates do. Believe me, if I owned Glee it would be a **very** different show. For a start, Sue would be even more evil and conniving than she already is, and Rachel **would **have been locked up in Kurt's basement until after Sectionals. No, make that after **Regionals. Nationals. **She can just stay there, okay?

A/N: This is something I wrote last night and this morning. I got very little sleep last night because I wanted to get it finished and I've been planning the whole storyline. Later on, if I continue, I'm going to be adding three new characters, Sam (Kurt's BF), and two others which I haven't given names yet. I'm a hardcore Chris Colfer and Kurt Hummel 'Lady Face' fan so I hope it does them justice XD I think I went a bit overboard with the Sue quotes and the fancy words and exaggerations but it was fun. :D Please tell me if I'm utterly rubbish at it. I made up some references like the Isaac Newton one, and Sue being the child of...I won't spoil it, but others are from the show or Sue's Corner, like the 'sneaky gay' quote.

Contains spoilers from Journey, and quite a few others involving the baby issue. And several bad words.

This is the first fanfic I've ever written, so tell me what you think by reviewing, please? :) I love to write.

Sue's POV

William - no, make that **Sue** McKinley High School

Sue's Office

Tuesday, 2.01pm

The week after Regionals

Dear Diary,

I, one Sue Sylvester, 29, coach of the highly prestigious and world-leading cheerleading group _The Cheerios_, unanimously proclaimed the cheerleading captain of the last 2,000 years (despite fierce and yet cringingly insubstantial competition for millenniums from prancing fairies around the globe), astonishing undiscovered talent unravelled through the exceedingly gripping and enlightening novel _I'm a Winner and You're Fat_ (which, I may humbly add, has attracted 1,235,235,684,386 fans on facebook since it's much-anticipated release last week), believe that I may, finally, be coming to the end of my remarkably successful Schuester-flattening tether.

I know, Diary, I know. What happened? Well, I'll tell you what happened. This morning, as I was passing the office housing the resident panda from the zoo that was, as usual, refusing to mate, I naturally noticed some disconsolately petrified children cowering in the corner at the sight of the creature in captivity rubbing some unknown substance across every inch of its enclosure with a cloth; no doubt designed for the sole purpose of obliterating children. As it is globally known that Sue Sylvester is the first living being to be born to not two, but three loving parents - Mother Theresa, Madonna, and God (and it is rumoured by some that Chuck Norris may have played a part as well, mostly passing on the traits of strength and invincibility) – it was second nature to stop by to comfort these poor, bruised souls, undoubtedly inches from death.

In this vital moment, cradling the delicate balance between the gift of sustained life and a painful, panda-induced death I so often found myself attending to, I should have known one William Schuester would come trotting smugly along, curly elf-ridden head held high in glee at just the thought of poisoning these already mentally-scarred children with a fresh coat of margarine and bird eggs. Unwilling to weaken the flow of kindness and life I was supplying to these eager children, lying abused and pitiful on the floor of my school, I continued to generously recount to them my endless personal real-life accounts of morals, hope, love, healing the ill, feeding the hungry, clothing the poor, and generally ridding the world of the curls on William Schuester's ungrateful head, which are universally accepted to be the basis of all these worldwide quandaries.

Unfortunately, the poisonous whiff of the various life forms feeding on each other within those stinking depths made my concentration lapse, and the children beneath me wailed out in grief and desolation as I looked away, seeking so desperately that anti-curl remedy I was providing them through my inherited anti-curl gaze – their only chance of survival in such disturbing circumstances. I then underwent a realisation that was destined to change my young life forever, right up until the imminent day in which I achieve my immortality – I could no longer live a single second and feel at peace with the degree of safety and dignity of humankind while that man's head inhabited a single gravity-defying curl, because somewhere in the solar system in a stately intergalactic capsule, at this precise moment, Isaac Newton was crying.

Oh, how I fear for the elves trapped helplessly, despairingly in the deep realms of margarine they are so unbearably contained within, screaming for help with no chance of rescue through the black hole of sound conjured by the deep depths of those deceivingly doll-like curls. I can't help but pity them; every second they are choking on the dense layer of sulfurous eggs laid by diclofenac-infested birds consuming undercooked beef from cows that have eaten grass contaminated with human faeces, and I find it _disgusting_.

Oh, Diary, how can I ever possibly live up to my late parents' expectations of Sue Sylvester if William Schuester's hair is constantly appearing at every road I turn, forevermore equipped to neutralise my well-renowned healing effects? Every second of every day I spend in terror on behalf of civilization…the only way it could possibly be worse is if the panda, God forbid, decides to mate with margarine-haired man and I am left to face a horrifying briar-patch egg-laying panda hair-product hybrid on legs, with a fear of the messy things. It's only a matter of time…I see the way they look at each other...then there would be no hope left for these terrorised children…

...No. I can't let this debacle escalate to such extremes…I may be barely 29, but the future of the whole of the Earth's population is resting solely in my hands. I believe it is time, at last, to put my plan into action…a plan I have been developing since I arrived here at this school, a plan that has only been growing stronger as I have gradually taken over Lima. A plan to rid Lima and the rest of the world of William Schuester's increasingly obscene hairdo once and for all, before it is too late. I have been training my Cheerios hard and have attempted to disarm Schuester of his faithful Glee Club for so long for this reason alone…and the means by which I will operate this mission..? Only the bitchiest and most cunning Cheerio of them all!

…_Lady Face._

Yours, until tomorrow,

Sue Sylvester.

XXXXXXXX

William McKinley High School

Spanish Class

Wednesday, 3pm

_Wake up, Kurt. That was the bell._

Perfecting his bangs idly, Kurt Hummel expertly radiated an air of superiority and boredom as he got up from his chair and strolled across to the morose Spanish classroom door, opening it and linking arms with his best friend Mercedes Jones, who had been waiting for him. Once out, he attempted to drag her along by the arm, eager to get to Glee club.

"Woah woah _woah! _Hold up, white boy!" The diva held up a hand to slow Kurt to a stop, clearly overwhelmed, before pointing a finger to the item on his shoulder. What is _that_ bag?"

Kurt really wasn't in the mood for this; as much as he loved his best friend, he often questioned why it was always left to him to attend to her unacceptable lack of fashion knowledge. He'd known from the moment the girl had walked into Glee club dressed up as a Technicolor zebra that he'd have a lot of work to do on this diva, and sometimes it was downright _tiring, _despite makeovers being like crack to him and whatnot. There was only so much he could take. But still he turned to her and made a show of rolling his eyes, clutching his red Ralph Lauren shoulder bag more tightly to his side. He sighed lightly.

"That question was an insult to the highly exalted NC Magazine. But if you must know, it's-"

Rough fists twisted bundles of soft, blue pleated shirt as Kurt felt himself being lifted off his feet and slammed – in a_ completely undignified _manner, he thought irritably - against a dirty, jutted-open locker. It caught him directly on the path of his spine and he squeaked minutely as the pressure of it sent shockwaves piercing up his back and then streaking throughout the entire length of his body. He tried to free himself, but only succeeded in squirming around uncomfortably, to no avail; and, in the meantime, a jock with a huge presence (whom Kurt recognised as Azimio) stepped forward and knocked the precious bag that Kurt was still clutching clean off his shoulders, so that it skidded sideways along the floor, collided with several cleat-clad feet (A/N: does this make sense?), and settled eventually in a pooling accumulation of grape slushie.

"…Ralph Lauren."

Mercedes gasped, but did not move. Her feet appeared frozen to the spot.

Kurt eyed the bag from his position in the air, his feet dangling and swinging noiselessly as he fumed inwardly. He'd bought that bag _yesterday._ It was _over_ _two thousand dollars._ He looked up to stare blankly at his attacker's face. Karofsky. Kurt was absolutely furious, but he couldn't let the jocks know that. That would just give them another excuse to beat the life out of him. The best option was to remain unfalteringly neutral, and Kurt was very good at it. There was nothing that could break through his carefree façade; years and years of purposeful training ensured that.

"_Fag_."

…Well, except that. Kurt hated that Karofsky and his cronies would always attack him like this, stare him down, and then mutter this one, single syllable, as though offering it as a justifiable reason for their obsession with bothering him. Kurt was tired of hearing it, and although he was long past feeling hurt by the word itself, there was something about the perpetual spite in Karofsky's tone alone that disturbed a deep place inside of him; pricked at his very being and left a nasty, lasting sting. Kurt just perched there, defeated, his façade long forgotten as his body abruptly broke out into an insubordinate bout of panicky shivers, while Karofsky continued to mutter obscenities into his ear.

Kurt opened his eyes, desperate to find someone, anyone, to make eye contact with; he just needed a fraction of a second for them to look him in the eye for them to know what was going on. From under the elbows of the jeering, slightly swaying jocks surrounding him, he could just make out the distinctive, toned, muscular arms of a fellow Glee clubber.

Kurt hesitated; this Glee clubber _was _the one that once himself pinned Kurt up to the lockers, muttering _fag _into his ear, after all. Noticing Kurt's undivided attention over to the right, Karofsky quickly parted the group, swearing at them to get out of the way, following Kurt's gaze to Noah 'Puck' Puckerman.

"Ah." Karofsky frowned at Puck, sizing him up. Puck was just standing there, arms hanging loosely at his sides, his expression blank and cold as he looked straight into Kurt's eyes. Kurt regarded him steadfastly, his eyes wide with conviction. Since joining Glee, Puck was a changed man, it seemed; he no longer followed the daily 'Pummel Hummel' ritual that he had, unbelievably, once founded, choosing to no longer chuck the smaller boy into dumpsters, hit him or give him slushie facials at every available opportunity. Kurt was sure he would come to his aid now, especially after the birth of Beth, Quinn's baby. He was different in a way that no-one could really put their finger on; just gentler, more fragile and caring, like the rest of us after losing Regionals.

Seeing how intently Kurt was gazing at Puck, Karofsky jumped at the opportunity he had just spotted.

"So, you two gonna make out or what?" He looked back and forth between Kurt and Puck, before speaking directly to Puck. "Cos Hummel's looking at you all homo misty-eyed and you don't seem to mind it all that much, Puckerman. In fact, I'd say that's the reason why you joined Homo Explosion in the first place, isn't it?" Kurt flinched at the nickname for Glee club. "Isn't it, Puckerman? You're queer as all hell, you little fu-"

"Shut UP, you JERK!" The words left Kurt's lips before he even had a chance to process them, but still he had more to say. He would not perch here and listen to Puck get scolded for showing a little bit of human decency over the last few months.

"What did you say?" Karofsky whispered dangerously, every ounce of his rage focused on Kurt as he turned back to face him. But Kurt found he didn't care anymore. Surprising everyone, including himself, he opened his mouth and giggled. He giggled louder and louder until it turned into a fully-fledged laughing fit, clutching his sides as he doubled up in hysterics.

As though the Neanderthals had marched into the scene partnered off in groups of two, like in kindergarten, each and every one turned to look at his partner, staring dimly at the other's confused expression. Karofsky turned to look at Azimio, his partner, and Kurt couldn't help but notice how their arms and legs were brushing and their faces were barely two inches apart. He giggled harder. Finally, Karofsky found his voice, which sounded slightly nervous.

"What's so funny, fag?" He snapped.

The anger building up in Kurt from earlier had completely diminished. He found that the outburst he was expecting was not coming. Instead, he turned to Karofsky, and his voice was snarky, very bitchy and still quite giddy as he chuckled, "Well, it's just that…you're one to talk about gays, you and Azimio seem quite chu-chummy if you ask me!"

And Kurt, Puck, and Mercedes – the latter having just joined the little huddle, Kurt now noticed – burst out into fits of laughter as Karofsky slackened his grip on Kurt and let him drop almost smoothly to the ground. He concentrated only on side-stepping as far away from Azimio as humanly possible while remaining in the same building, while his 'partner' did the same, amidst the half-devastated and repulsed, half-laughing cries from the rest of the football team of

"Holy shit, dude!"

"We've got fucking queers on the team!"

"I bet they just wanted Hummel for themselves!"

"They're getting some ass tonight!"

Mercedes looked a bit shocked by this last comment, before chortling and grabbing Kurt by the arm.

"Baby! _I'm sorry_," Mercedes said sincerely, as Kurt reached down to carefully pick up his bag from the puddle on the floor, holding it a fair distance away from him and grimacing. Kurt's grateful glance was replaced almost immediately by a look of utmost irritability.

"Why are you sorry? I told you. That," and he waved his pinky finger in the general direction of the retreating thugs, "is always going to happen. It always has. And it doesn't bother me. I'm just fine knowing that I'm – _we _– are superior to all of them."

Mercedes grinned. "I know. What I meant is, I'm sorry for not knowing. You know. Ralph Lauren." Her brown eyes almost vanished completely as her face's eyes to teeth ratio was, in a second, overcome by a majority in the latter.

"Don't worry, you're not the only one, 'Cedes," Puck contributed before taking hold of her other arm. "I could never keep up with all this designer, label and fashion shit." Mercedes turned a slight shade of pink as she smiled at Puck. Ironic as it was, Kurt thought that this was probably one of the politest things that had ever come out of the footballer's mouth, even now.

Too preoccupied to even think about Kurt's bag that they had just successfully seized, Karofsky and Azimio ran, terrified, away from their team. Halfway down the corridor, they bumped into the lockers, one jock on either side in a simultaneous collision; the momentum of which caused them to bounce back into the centre of the hallway and right into each other's flailing arms. They clutched each other for a second, panting, before it dawned on them what exactly they were doing, and they jerked apart, squealing, ramming back and forth, into the lockers, all over the place. By this time, the whole school it seemed was in on the joke, and the pair was followed by cat calls and wolf whistles all the way down the rest of the corridor, before they finally collapsed against a wall, a comfortable distance from the football team and each other, sobbing silently.

"That's it, RUN AWAY LOVERBOYS. You don't want to be late for your appointment at SUPERCUTS!" And with that, Kurt re-linked arms with Mercedes and shot a high-five at Puck, before marching down the opposite side of the corridor, carefree nose held high in the air; a small, triumphant smile gracing his lips, as half of the school followed behind him, chanting his name. Unbeknownst to Kurt, the silent sobs down the corridor they just left intensified into pitiful wails of loss and despair.

XXXXXXXX

William - no, make that **Sue** McKinley High School

Sue's Office

Wednesday, 3.56pm

Dear Faithful Diary,

Loss and despair…that's what I like to see, I mean- Oh what poor, unfortunate - although bullying - jocks…I'll go down to check on them in a minute, but that's not so important right this instant. What are important are the vast implications of what I have just witnessed, because Lady Face proved something to me today. Not only is he as gay as a pink Dolce and Gabbana handbag full of rainbows and a variety of shapes and sizes of unicorn plushies stolen from Brittany's house by a gold and pink pick-up truck, but he is also shamelessly ruthless, bitchy, conniving…all the qualities required to bring down this school for good - I mean, bring down William Schuester's child-molesting curls for good. Of course, these events were only confirming my suspicions...I knew the lady had it in him all along, just _look _at the way he sits on a chair! It screams _bitch!_ I could almost go as far as to say that today he put on a performance worthy of a young Sue Sylvester…almost. He sure as hell won one over those jocks, though, as kids say nowadays. I was right to assume that he is more of a bitch than that Quinn Fabray could ever be, and that's saying something. What's more, he showed up those gays in denial for what they really are…and that only makes me like him infinitely more; there really is far too much sneaky gay deception in this world.

Oh, and the addition of the hair joke right at the end, when the Neanderthals were in the middle of bawling their eyes out, to rub salt into the already excruciating wound? Beautiful.

Lady Face: 1

Neanderthals: 0

Yours Faithfully,

Sue Sylvester, the loyal child of Mother Theresa, Madonna, and God.

A/N: If you got down this far, thanks for reading :D I thought I'd leave it there for now. What do you think; should I continue?


	2. Meddlings

Disclaimer: I don't own Glee. Ryan Murphy, Brad Falchuk, Ian Brennan and their associates do. Believe me, if I owned Glee it would be a **very** different show. For a start, Sue would be even more evil and conniving than she already is, and Rachel **would **have been locked up in Kurt's basement until after Sectionals. No, make that after **Regionals. Nationals. **She can just stay there, okay?

Oh, and if anyone I know in real life is reading this, you will notice one of my characters is heavily based around a person I really know. I hope I did them justice :)

**An important thing -** there are a couple of things in this chapter that could be seen as offensive. For example, to curly haired people (I'm not laughing). This is written purely from the point of view of Sue Sylvester and nothing in it is intended to make a stab at anyone - I'm just getting into character. Another thing: in this story it's not the norm to wear your Cheerios uniform outside of practice.

Sue's POV

The Sue McKinley Cheerleading Academy for Girls

Sue's Office

Thursday, 12pm

Dear Diary,

It is thought by many of the most delusional in this world that the deal I made with Figgins at the end of last year was out of charity to William Schuester's absolutely ridiculous Glee Club (matched only in ridiculousness by Schuester's absolutely ridiculous hair cut), which, under the influence of only the most professional and civilised methods of blackmail, I eventually convinced Figgins to keep running for an additional year. Among these mindless delusionals is William Schuester himself; after the Glee Club's embarrassing nosedive defeat at Regionals, which was admittedly not a part of my plans (I had voted for them to win, in hope that I could take the easy way out and avoid blackmail to keep Glee Club alive and running), I paid him a visit in his pathetic melancholy state and expertly fed him some absolute balderdash about actually _caring _about and _admiring _the club and what he does with these kids. _HA! _

The truth? I do not care about Glee Club. I am incapable, and refuse, to care about something under the vindictive wrath of the racist animated Disney characters threatening to jump out with knives and pitchforks to attack the old, young and sexually insecure from William Schuester's INSULTINGLY GREASY hair. But, more specifically, the club is pivotal to this mission. My mission with Lady Face. The lady and I; we _need _to keep this club open, for as long as possible. It is rudimentary.

While the earlier stages of the plan are, so far, running smoothly, I do admittedly face one setback. Being a direct descendant of God, I often fear that the constant presence of thoughts of cherishing and bettering the lives of the ostracized children that study Spanish at my school has prevented me from being honest with myself and allowing my exclusively charitable person to recognise my own faults and weaknesses. Yes, it's true that I may go as far as to admit that there are several limitations I must face in my mission to obliterate every last curl on Schuester's ungrateful head. Although, of course, I could never come to admit this to Schuester himself. Several thousand unborn babies would indubitably wail at a loss of dignity as the confidence boost repulsively engorged his ego so drastically that his already inconceivably large head swelled to the size of a large, hairy, ignorant pregnant stomach – _with curls. _Any pregnant woman within a five thousand yard radius would painfully miscarry within the next quarter of a second.

No…the insulting nature of William Schuester's curls is already responsible for the molest and massacre of one unfortunate generation…the biggest limitation to one Sue Sylvester will, therefore, be obliged to remain for the scrutiny of this diary only. And here it is.

I just do not give myself enough credit.

Because Sue Sylvester wasn't born to the most powerful three parents in existence for nothing. Oh, no. Sue Sylvester is _brilliance_.

I realised this today as I was walking ever so inoffensively past Figgins' office, with absolutely no intent on eavesdropping, when it just so happened that I noticed three small, skinny and visibly quaking frames practically collapsing in pure terror just inside the door. Again, my natural instincts halted me and I felt the usual yearning to nurture.

"Come closer," I heard the authoritative voice within mutter. Despite my evidently firm belief in respecting others' pride and privacy, against my better judgment, I leant against the door and peered inside, my fear only peaking for these underprivileged children as I spotted a coy finger curling upwards and inwards as it was shallowly brandished towards them from across the Principal's desk.

Ah, Figgy. He was obviously at such displeasure to our more unfruitful escapades in the bedr- I MEAN, he was obviously at such a loss to the stark lack of sex in his already precarious marriage that he was willing to seduce the nearest person available, and what better than a whole group of horny, pubescent teenage school students that just so happened to attend _my _school? Deciding it was for the best to protect the dignity of mankind, and lodging no other ulterior motive at all, I marched straight into the office, closing the door and taking a seat in the far corner of the room, opening up my diary to a note page and poising a pen inconspicuously at the paper's edge.

"Continue," I said simply. Gloriously indifferent, if I may say so myself. Which I may.

"So," Figgy began, attention once more focused entirely on the teens before him. "Before we begin with the finer details of coming to school here at McKinley, let's make our introductions. I'm Principal Figgins, and I have worked here for six years so I am certain I am well equipped to deal with any problems you may have settling in." He turned in his chair to face the student on the right of the group. "And you are?"

The fairly short girl took a confident stride forward, bouncing on the balls of her feet slightly and opening her glassy eyes wide as she stated, with much heavy emphasis, "I'm _Lauren_." As I subtly surveyed her, taking in her superbly abysmal green and black star-print jeans and pink Lady Gaga t-shirt, I felt immediately threatened. My gaze rose to her straightened pink-red hair and it abruptly dawned on me why this was. Oh, sweet virgin of Madonna, not _this. _First sneaky gays had somehow found their way into my school, and now sneaky _spring-heads_? Apparently straight hair or not, Sue Sylvester can _never _be fooled, and knows just when a sneaky member of Schuester's vermin clan is in her midst.

"Igirisu kara kimashita," Lauren said in a sing-song voice that I wholly understood, as I evidently have the skill to fluently speak most worldly languages. "That means 'I come from England' in Japanese," she amended. The others just gaped at her with an expression somewhere between bewilderment and hesitant, almost sympathetic confusion (as though they thought she had just come from a mental asylum, which she probably had) as she continued.

"Most people agree that I'm…kind of strange. I can be loud and in your face. But there's also a lot more to me than everyone thinks. I love my friends, and if you hurt them, I'll hurt you." Her gray-blue eyes darted manically from person to person, her lips a hard-pressed line, as though daring them to question this statement. When no-one did, her expression seemed to soften, and she let out a small, giggly breath. "I love poems; especially love poems. And pandas. Macabre things like skulls and vultures, too. Oh, and I love to sing, more than _anything_. I can be a nice friend if you get to know me, or so I've been told, but I guess I can be kind of a bitch, too." She pulled a face; her lips pressed together and to the side of her face, puckered up, as her large, clear irises darted up to the ceiling in a submissive expression, set under flutteringly long black eyelashes, as though to say, 'Oh well, that's me. Take me or leave me.'

My pen scrawled frenziedly across the page at her words. _New student. Loves to sing._ _Yes… interesting_…very_ interesting indeed. By the looks of her, she certainly doesn't seem afraid to stand up for herself. And I'm sure she has the drive and bitchiness to get wherever she wants and be good at it. Yes…I can use her, she can join the club…__She__ would indisputably make this process easier, and devilishly enhance Glee Club._ I smiled to myself slightly as I considered it. _Wouldn't one Rachel Berry be _absolutely_ thrilled? _

Next, the boy in the middle, with shoulders like a coat hanger. "I'm Ritchie Adams!" He spun on the spot theatrically, giving his best cringe-worthy show smile. His dark face glowed with a sheen resembling that of William Schuester's hair after several days gone without wiping it on someone, as he turned and beamed at each person in turn, his overexcited expression rotating and changing position sporadically, like some kind of mechanical curly-haired clown. _Curly-haired…_

My eyes flickered to the three students as a whole and I realised that all three of them had the nerve to at least sport a hint of curls on their bulbous heads. How utterly _ridiculous._ What in the name of my father gave them the idea that they could march straight into my school and downright hairily defy my authority, without a second thought? It was _disgusting. _"I like drama and theater." It appeared that this was all the dark-haired teen had to offer, so the last student, standing comparatively tall and subdued on the left of the group, took a small - yet apparently confident - step forward.

In spite of my lazily carefree faça- self, I found myself staring at this boy for an alarming length of time. He had a very distinctive appearance; his light brown, wavy mop sat neatly on his pretty head, the silken strands curling inwards ever so delicately, and yet with pinpoint precision, to frame his heart-shaped face. His lips were slightly pink. He had on a black t-shirt with a picture of a peculiar black-haired man with a stoop; the words 'Death Note' printed in spidery lettering underneath. There was also a bizarre sophistication to the way he held himself. At first, he seemed to exude an air of timidness, throwing a nervous glance in the direction of Lauren and Ritchie as he emerged from the little corner he'd been discreetly making for himself while they talked. Still, there was an undertone of comfort in his own skin; an infinitesimal spring to his shallow step that gave hint to a past of overcome obstacles and newfound buoyancy.

"And you are..?"

"Sam Lightowler."

XXXXXXXX

Sam's POV

"Age?" Figgins presses.

"16."

"From?"

Why is he interrogating _me_ and not the others, when I'm clearly the least interesting?

"Colorado, though I've never been to a proper school before."

"Best make sure they know you're not from Africa kiddo, or else the whole student population will be calling you Cady Heron."

I look up into the eyes of the middle-aged woman sitting in the corner with a notebook in her lap. Her gaze is stern, and the only coherent thought I have is that she looks like the type to have watched _that_ film.

I avert my eyes. "If you're wondering why, I guess it's for loads of reasons, but the main reason is that my parents always figured that everyone gets bullied in high school. In fact, you go to any school – elementary school, middle school, no matter where it is – and you can't escape it. And it's worse for some people than others."

Principal Figgins nods slightly. "Why do you think that is? Did your parents think you would have it worse than the others kids?"

"Yes, and I can see why. Other than the fact that I'm obviously gay, I have autism, and although it's mild, my parents didn't want to put me in for all the trouble. Besides, I've always loved reading and drawing, so I'd have been the typical target anyway. Not even football could prevent from that."

I can feel the eyes of Ritchie and that severe-looking blonde-haired woman boring into me at my words, and I can't say I'm surprised. It comes as an astonishment to pretty much everyone I meet how very blunt I am about my sexuality. But why hide it, when it's relevant to bring up? I'm not ashamed, and being gay is often at the heart of many issues in my life, whether I like it or not. I'll admit that thinking about how my sexuality has such a large influence on my life can really upset me, though. My parents could tell from an early age that there was something different about me, and they didn't want that to land me in any unfavorable situations at school, so they homeschooled me. They were constantly at ease with the idea that I would be happy. And for a while, I was.

What happened afterwards doesn't matter. Or rather, I wouldn't like to talk about it; to anyone that isn't gay, at least. And I've never met another homosexual before, strange as that is. It _would_ be nice to have someone to share my thoughts with.

There's something I can't quite shake. A weird feeling. Uneasy. Tweaking at my nerves. As the principal rambles on about rules or lessons or something of that sort, I glance across to the woman in the corner to see her scribbly away chaotically in her notes. Muttering vaguely, too quietly to hear, between erratic breaths; her pupils visibly bulging as her clear eyes widen frenziedly, a single, fat vein protruding on her wrinkled forehead. Looking at her, the uneasiness in my stomach bubbles more violently. I'll have to watch out for her. I know a psychotic teacher when I see one, and this is one psychotic teacher with a sudden earth-shattering inspiration, all right. Who knows what she could be plotting?

XXXXXXXX

William McKinley High School

The Corridor

Thursday, 1.05pm

For the first time in what felt like months, Kurt was in high spirits. In just a single day, it appeared as though he'd achieved a jock-equivalent status at school, and for once in his life, no-one had a bad word for him. He'd also been shopping the night before, and had managed to snag the pair of extra-tight Versace skinny jeans he'd had his eye on for months. What's more, he was _sure _that two cute guys had totally just checked him out as they walked past, and he beamed with his head held high, unashamedly loving every second of the attention. With a giggly Mercedes eternally attached to his arm, he trotted leisurely along the corridor on the way to the library for his free period, sashaying his Versace-clad hips to give the jocks trailing behind them - in something of a popularity procession - a clear view of his pert ass.

"Nothing wrong with giving them a taste of what they're missing, right 'Cedes?" he muttered lowly into the diva's ear. "The fact that Matt is permanently single when he's such a great dancer and Brittany's given him offers on multiple occasions is a tad suspicious if you ask me. And," he added as the boy in question overtook them and shot the pair a cute lopsided smile, causing the counter-tenor to beam wider, "I wouldn't say no."

"Pfff. Sure. You know who that smile reminded me of?" Mercedes questioned, a critical stare encompassing her features as Finn Hudson sped up to walk alongside them.

"Hey, Kurt. Hey 'Cedes. You two seen Rachel anywhere?"

Mercedes leaned in to Kurt almost menacingly - though her eyes were fixed on the quarterback, who was conveniently looking elsewhere - and said with a voice heavy with meaning, "You still wonder, don't you?"

Kurt barely had a chance to blush a dark shade of pink at her words when he felt the familiar sensation of his space being invaded, and he wondered vaguely why the hell he couldn't go for just one day without turmoil as his feet were swept three feet off the ground. Too busy yelping and flailing in complaint at the uncalled for abuse to his favorite England-bought form-fitting sweater, he failed to notice that the harsh hands grasping him in a claw-like clasp sported sharp nails and were uncharacteristically bony of Neanderthals; that is, until he was carried kicking and screaming into an office suspiciously full of trophies and set down with a clunk into one of the suspiciously stern-looking chairs opposite a desk with a little sign bearing the suspicious words 'I hate William Schuester. Keep out'.

"So, um…" Kurt glanced nervously around the office. It was clear to him now: there were only two things that could threaten his perfectly placed, carefree façade. One, being called a fag. And two, being under the scrutiny of Coach Sylvester. Everyone knew she was one to be avoided; she was absolutely loony-raving crazy, made half the students in school cry just by batting an eyelid at them and at least terrorized the others enough for them to want to flush their heads down the toilet at some point during the day **(**A/N: **Yes, that was a shameless Harry Potter book 1 reference, teehee.)** The scariest thing about her, though, was the fact that she seemed to be under the impression that she was helping them by doing so.

"Why did you want to talk to me?" Kurt finished.

She surveyed him with an air of haste and determination. "Four reasons, Lady Face. The last is of the highest importance, so first I'll just run these three by you."

Kurt stared at her. Her eyes were popping out of her face more than usual. There must be something really important she had to say.

"First of all, I'd like you to begin wearing your Cheerios uniform at all times, not just during practice." The coach leaned under her desk and tugged out a large plastic bag, splitting it open so that half a dozen identical red and white uniforms came spilling out into a protesting Kurt's scrambling arms. "And when I mean at all times, I _mean _at all times. I have something in mind that will require you to represent the Cheerios around the clock. This should be sufficient. Keep one separate for sleeping in."

"But-"

"Number two. Ever since that day you told me you thought you may be losing your father because of your sexuality…well, I've always felt somewhat protective of you, Lady Face. Which is why I'm doing you a favour now. Despite my short lifespan, I've come across many gay men, and I've had to deal with many a gay man's troubles. So believe Sue Sylvester when she tells you that there are definite tell-tale signs of typical gay men. Yes, _definite signs._" She began to slowly circle her way around the desk, apparently refusing to even consider sitting, as though she thought the idea alone an insult to her authority. "Spot a man with well-kept light brown wavy hair and a heart-shaped face? You're on the money. Quite tall. Large head. Pinkish lips. It's not unusual for them to sport black t-shirts, often bearing a rather peculiar image of a dark-haired man wearing eye-liner, stooping above the two tell-tale words 'Death Note'. Code, you know. For 'I'm gay'. Fools the idiots every time." She tutted slightly under her breath. "So, Lady Face, if you see such a man – and believe me, I've seen plenty of them hanging around recently – do not let me down. You know how much I love to help with your lady troubles."

Kurt just sat there, finally lost for words. Whatever he had been expecting, it was not this.

"And now, number three." Coach Sylvester leant across to her desk to pick up her cup of tea, satisfied at the stunned look on Kurt's face. "The way you handled the jocks that day…that one, distant day…it seems so far away, so insignificant…just a memory, and yet unlikely as it seems, it was bound then, as it is now, to change both our lives forever."

"Um. That was yesterday, Coach Sylvester," Kurt pointed out, clearly uncomfortable.

"And yet, we both remember it as though it were yesterday. Funny how the mind works, that way…wouldn't you agree, Lady Face?"

Kurt kept quiet, bewildered.

"And so…that one faithful day, I had a revelation, Lady Face – wait." She stopped talking abruptly, her glassy eyes regaining focus for the most fleeting of moments as she looked him in the eye.

"Before I carry on, I have to make sure of one thing. You do intend on continuing this battle against the jocks, don't you? I feel it's about time they got a piece of your gloriously bitchy mind."

Kurt was startled by her sudden change in tone, and the fact that she was defending him against the jocks, but his voice was sure and steady as he replied vehemently, "Absolutely. I actually have another idea up my sleeve, but I'd rather keep it under wraps for now, if you don't mind. I intend on implementing my plan tomorrow."

"Very professional," she praised, eyeing the boy with approval. "I'll be keeping an eye on you. Making sure you're giving them all the trouble they deserve. It's good practice for the future." Just like that, she switched back to her usual glassy-eyed, loony-raving self. "So, that one faithful day, I had a relevation, Lady Face. In that short instant in time, I stopped and looked at my life and looked at yours and realised that you were the child I never had."

"Excuse me?" Kurt was thunderstruck. He couldn't believe what he was hearing.

"Oh – I see, I understand that may have sounded a little odd." She reached over to her desk to recover by realigning her William Schuester sign before straightening up and amending, "Of course, I'm far too young to have a child. What I meant is, the child I could never see myself having. I'm far too independent and self-reliant to feel the typical insecure yearning to give birth. I'm also the daughter of God, so such humanly hormonal imbalances are naturally beneath me." She took a sip of tea. "Besides, all the misguided children I have to protect on a daily basis from contact with William Schuester's moth-rotten head – the curls of which he frequently fills with sweets with which to lure them - might as well be my own. In fact, I'm sure they consider themselves as such."

The lips that Kurt would usually take pride as being forever pressed together in a taut, dignified, sceptical line had now lost all sense of control as he gaped unintelligibly at the cheerleading coach. He did so for several minutes as the woman before him continued to visibly bask in her own greatness before he finally stood up and stated simply, "Um. I'm leaving." No response.

He left the office. He was pretty sure Coach Sylvester wouldn't notice for, say, 35 minutes.

XXXXXXXX

Sue's POV

The Sue McKinley Cheerleading Academy for Girls

Sue's Office

35 minutes later

_Damn him!_ Just when I get the chance to introduce him to the mission, he leaves! Just like that! After all that brainless chitchat! How on Earth did he manage to escape _the _Sue Sylvester? And when? All I know is he's not here now. _Damn _Lady Face. He'd better do something entertaining with the Neanderthals tomorrow. Still, at least his masterful escape (and masterful it must have been, to get past me) proves that he's better at deception than I thought, and that only proves him a worthier candidate for _Head Cheerleader_. Yes, that's what I've intended to make him since plotting for this mission began…I've said it from the start, he has just the right balance of snarkiness, bitchiness and level-headedness needed to perform his righteous duties as Head Execu- Cheerleader, and with the whole of the team behind him - as well as the whole of _Glee Club _– together, the lady and I…we will be able to fulfil this operation...

An operation that will prove all the more _deliciously_ bitchy and emotional - as well as cause optimum distress - with the help of Lauren Simons, and - _especially _- one Samuel Lightowler.

If I'm setting out on this bitch-slap journey, why not enjoy the ride?

Until tomorrow,

The _brilliant_ Sue Sylvester.

A/N: Any other Death Note fans? :)


	3. Missing Pieces

**Update: I don't know when I will be able to update this again as I am going to Spain for a week on Sunday 25th, so I doubt I'll be able to add more before I come back.**

**This took me far too long to update. I have no excuse, just been thinking of other things. And been going laser tagging a couple of times. Internet hugs for you if you can identify the movie quote and tell me which movie it's from. :D ****If you can't, shame on you** **;D I don't know any Spanish so feel free to correct me if I'm wrong, I relied on the internet for translations. ****I dedicate this chapter to my best friend, Lauren. I hope I do you justice, darling. Please don't take offense, you know it's just my Sue talking. :D ****I also dedicate to another best friend, Zainab, because she takes the time to read this and I absolutely love her for it.**

_italics=thoughts or something of the sort, I'm sure you can work it out :D_

Reviews are love, as they say! :D

William McKinley High School

The Parking Lot

Friday, 8.30am

_Everything's in place_, Kurt whispered to himself with a smile. _Just have to wait for them now. _It was the average warm summer morning, but he couldn't help but shiver in his awkward crouching position behind the all-too familiar school dumpster. This was partly due to the fact that, at any moment, Karofsky would no doubt arrive and territorially take his place in front of said dumpster, followed momentarily by a long stream of cross-eyed, magnetised jocks; but mostly because of the repulsive stench of uneaten food and various other junk no doubt permeating his brand new red Christian Dior sweater.

As Coach Sylvester seemed to take pleasure in telling him, there was no reason for him to fear the jocks. The jocks were no match for the bitchiest of all the Cheerios, i.e. Santana (Kurt was second). And Kurt was a fashionable gay guy. As the dark-haired girl would say: _duh_, that made him an automatic bitch.

Kurt didn't know what to make of the cheerleading coach's odd behaviour recently. She'd been acting even more demonic than usual, which gave the impression she was on some sort of evil mission. If that was the case, it would probably be a bad idea to follow the advice she gave him. Still…he couldn't see the bad side of humiliating the jocks for once in his life. Maybe the woman had just grown tired of those Neanderthals owning the school. Or maybe she just really cared for Kurt's welfare. Kurt wrinkled his face as he thought about it. For some unknown reason, she seemed to really like Kurt. It was kind of creepy.

The low rumble of two trucks pulling into the parking lot in unison jumped Kurt out of his thoughts. Peeking out from behind the dumpster, he smirked as he saw Karofsky and Azimio pulling open the doors of two new, identical monstrosities. Of course, _they'd_ have the biggest in the school. Bigger even than Puck's unsightly monstrosity which, for the purposes of a Glee project - much to his displeasure - he had been forced to take a ride in all too often. He promptly very nearly vomited as he realised the double meaning of his words.

Kurt hid himself from the approaching jocks. As they took their place in front of the dumpster, merely feet away from him, he held his breath and tried hard not to move, all the while keeping his eyes wide and searching and his ears twitching for any sign of a particularly burly football player. He was, however, momentarily distracted.

"Hey, Azimikins," the rough voice growled out. "Cuddle-bear. Don't ignore me."

"Hey - _Karofsky!_" the other boy giggled slightly in a girly voice but sounded worried all the same. "Someone might be hiding..."

"I don't see anyone; do you, schmoopsie-poo? Hows about we start where we left off this morning, when you gave me-"

_IT'S TIME TO TRY DEFYING GRAVITY. I THINK I'LL TRY DEFYING GRAVITY. _Kurt forced the familiar lyrics into his head to prevent from laughing out loud, or being sick. He wasn't quite sure which would occur first should he open his mouth. He hadn't thought Karofsky and Azimio actually _were _gay. Although, now that he thought about it, the idea didn't exactly surprise him.

Five minutes later, the now subdued duo had been joined by around five others, and had started chucking unsuspecting dweebs into the dumpster, when Kurt spotted him. Casual in the middle of the lot in a loose shirt and jeans, looking awkwardly across at his once best friends. This happened virtually every morning. Kurt was familiar with the internal battle that the jock must be going through – the kid could read facial expressions like a book, and he'd seen this look before.

Puck was fighting the urge to go over to the dumpster for another round of his once most fundamental pastime, the morals of which he not once used to question. But nowadays, ever since joining Glee and (sort of) befriending Kurt - the Neanderthals' favourite subject - he was faced with the opposite side of the argument, which was all for doing what he now knew was right.

Kurt watched his face closely, which was squinting and contorting from the battle, and knew this was where he had to come in. He took a deep breath, and leaned further out from behind the dumpster, putting himself in clear view to Puck. He forced a look of utmost nauseous terror onto his face as he stared manically up at the back of Karofsky's head.

He knew the second Puck saw him. Brown-gray eyes darted between Karofsky and Kurt and all the colour drained from his face. The battle leaving him, he strode forward and gave Kurt one last reassuringly look before going to stand next to Karofsky, who was still unaware of the smaller boy.

Kurt nibbled on his lower lip nervously. He knew the older teen thought that he needed saving from the jocks, and it was sweet of him to try and help him. Kurt wondered if this thought alone would bring about the guilt of what he was planning to do.

"_Puck?_" Karofsky was in shock. "What the fuck? I thought you decided you were too much of a flouncy little homo to associate with us. We're too masculine." Kurt could see an idea come to the jock as he flexed his muscles and leered. "Or did you realise the only homo choice you had was Hummel, and his pretty ass was too good for you? So you came here to dumpster dive, right, 'cause it's the only chance you'll have to feel up a bunch of horny, willing dweebs? Isn't that right, you f-"

"Excuse me?" Kurt strutted forward. He'd just had an idea, and he was going to do this with style. "I believe you just referred to me as pretty?" Hand on hip and half his lips tugged up in a smile, he glared Karofsky down in the sultriest manner imaginable.

"What? No-" he glanced at Kurt and panicked. Shit, the kid was intimidating. And goddamn sexy. _Shit! _There was something about the coy smirk on his face that made the jock's heart pound madly. "I-I just said your ass was pretty." _Oh, my God. For the love of schmoopsie-poo, I did _not _just say that._

"Oh really?" Kurt giggled at the terrified look on the jock's face. This was just too much fun. "You've seen my ass, have you?"

"Wh-what? N-no-"

By this time, everyone listening in on the exchange was in fits of laughter at Karofsky's embarrassed expression. Kurt beamed.

"I believe you are blushing, Mr. Big Artiste," Kurt gushed, pouting and fluttering his eyelashes and twirling his hips. "You know I drive you crazy."

Karofsky let out a high-pitched scream and ran away as Kurt reached out to him. Azimio hesitated, eventually running after him. As the group of guys surrounding Kurt closed in and whistled and thumped him on the back, and Kurt was suddenly overwhelmed by a very pleasant masculine smell, he remembered the initial aim of all this. He looked up into the eyes of the tall jock that had a firm grasp on his hand: Puck.

"Let's get to class," he urged, intertwining their fingers so that Kurt would not resist. It wasn't romantic and both of them knew that, but to Kurt's relief, the remaining jocks didn't. They closed in around Puck.

"Hey, _Noah._ We're not the biggest fans of public display. You know, Karofsky may be a fucking fairy, but at least he doesn't show it."

And with that, Puck was lifted clean off his feet and shoved head-first into the dumpster. Kurt looked on triumphantly; couldn't bring himself to feel guilty. This was exactly what Puck had done to him a hundred times.

So what if Puck had changed? It made Kurt even sicker that the teen thought he could just come to school one day, treat Kurt with all the respect he'd ever deserved, and be forgiven, just like that. Puck was still the heartless jerk that had nailed all his lawn furniture to his roof and thrown pee balloons at him. And Kurt, if bullied, had always been the type to remember his bullies' social security numbers and vow to post them on Twitter someday. Simply put, he was the type for ruthless revenge. _Revenge_, because kind-hearted or not, Puck deserved no less.

So when he shouted back over his shoulder "I hope you broke your neck, Puckerman!" it was for purposes of payback only, and not because he was actually - kind of, just a little bit - getting some weird insane pleasure from these _absolutely delicious_ methods of jock torture.

'Lady Face: 3

Neanderthals: 0

_Two stabs at Karofsky, one at Puckerman. This is it. The kid has to be ready now. I refuse to wait any longer.' _Sue scrawled with delight. She closed her notebook with a crisp snap.

XXXXXXXX

It was only a recent discovery, but Noah Puckerman had been thrown in the dumpster several times now by the jocks, so he soon realised he could get used to the overwhelming stench of a load of high school kids' crap as he lay somehow subdued within the dumpster's confining walls. When you got over the initial shock of it, it was all right. _And it's kind of weirdly cosy in here. I guess I can understand why Hummel kept coming back for more. Like, no-one can see me._

Okay, so no-one would _willingly _come back for more dumpster dives. That was kind of a mental stab at Kurt, because of what he had just called back at him. He wanted him to _break his neck? _Really? He had thought Kurt was his friend. He'd done his best to make up for what he did to Kurt in the past, and after spending all this time becoming better friends, the younger boy was now choosing to be a total bitch to him. _Well, screw him. Because there are two undeniable truths concerning Noah Puckerman's current situation in McKinley, and here they are. One, __Noah Puckerman is a stud. Two, no-one talks to the Puckzilla like that._

_Still, if I'm going to maintain my stud status, I'd better start acting like one. I need a popular girl._

Puck looked across to where Mercedes was standing, chatting to a load of girlfriends she'd made while on the Cheerios. _Hm, she'll do, _Puck thought with a careless smirk, though really he didn't just want to be with the girl because of his social status. That was just what he told himself. Really, he'd known she was sitting there long before he even looked. He got up and went over to talk to her.

Mercedes looked up and smiled before the air filled with the unmistakable sounds of Beyonce's _Single Ladies. _She frowned when she looked at the text from her best friend.

_Flirt like the wind, girl. **Don't** screw it up!_

XXXXXXXX_  
_

William- no, make that **Sue** McKinley High School

The Principal's Office

Friday, 9am

"I will not allow you, Sue, to blackmail me on the basis of our sexual conquests."

The three smaller people in the office stiffened, and Figgins cast an apologetic glance at them before turning to Sue. "Did I say that out loud?"

Sue stood directly behind the three trembling children. She placed a hand on Lauren and Sam's shoulders. "Figgy, Figgy, Figgy. I understand your needs, I really do; most men and women desire to fulfil their sexual fantasies with me, it's just they are usually a tad more discrete." Her face was composed; a hard, emotionless block, as she continued, "In spite of whatever your morning pills have been telling you that you have done with me, the fact remains that Glee Club needs members. After the catastrophe of Regionals, we need students that will actually sing. The club is hanging on by a particularly obnoxious thread, known as Rachel Berry."

"Sue, this is crazy talk! I refuse to believe you actually care about the club. You've been endeavouring to flatten it from the moment you came to work at this school, and now you want to endorse it? Just last week you were adamant on it running for another year, and now you want to recruit new members that have not even expressed an interest? I know you, Sue; you're up to something."

"I _am_ up to something. I'm up to here with your utterly offensive accusations. All I'm trying to do is keep options open for our newest students." She made to pat Ritchie on the head, but her hand swerved and aimed for his back just in time to avoid the threateningly wavy locks. "All three of them have expressed an interest in singing, therefore my good heart jumped to the immediate conclusion that they could join Glee Club."

Principal Figgins looked from Sue to each student in turn. "You would be interested in joining?"

They all nodded fervently, eager for the conversation to be over so the tall, creepy blonde woman would stop touching them.

"Excellent," Sue exclaimed with menace, her fingers snaking around and gripping all three children more tightly. The terrified squeaks were inaudible.

"Well then, I don't suppose I can complain," Figgins sighed lightly. "Go to the music room after last period today for Glee Club. If you feel comfortable, you could perhaps sing something to confirm your place in the club."

Ritchie and Sam nodded and left immediately. Lauren, however, was rounded on by Sue Sylvester.

She blinked furiously, eyes widening in trepidation. The longest lengths of black eyelash Sue had ever seen in her life fluttered across the girl's face. _Good for manipulation, _Sue noted for a later date. She dressed in a way that told the cheerleading couch she couldn't give a fuck what anyone thought of her; anyone could pick out just about every colour of the rainbow in her outfit, before realising they didn't need to, as she sported several rainbow 'Gay Pride' badges on the fabric of her Hello Kitty shoulder bag.

"Um…yes?" she asked, waving a hand timidly up at Sue, who smirked at the innocent gesture. From what she could tell, on the surface the girl thought and acted with the same dumb innocence as Brittany, but it was clear that there was a deliciously bright manipulator under the surface of it all. The operation wouldn't survive without her deception. To finish the plan, already set with Kurt, the Cheerios, Sam, Glee Club and - eventually - the whole student body, she knew she needed a special place for Lauren to add her eccentric stroke of genius.

Sue decided to take the shock approach. She needed to straighten her suspicions. "Are you gay?"

Lauren looked a little alarmed, before composing herself and replying confidently, "Oh, no." She paused. "What made you ask that?"

Sue simply pointed to the Gay Pride badges.

"Well, they're because…it's just…one of my friends back home is gay." She puckered her lip slightly, remembering. "I kind of helped him through shit. So I support anything and everything to do with gays. And I also kind of have two gay dads, which helped." She laughed again while Sue stared at her, a manic grin overtaking her features, eyes popping out of her head at that last sentence.

Just like that, the whole of _Operation: Lady Face _pieced together and sat, fully-formed, ready and waiting in Sue Sylvester's wickedly cackling mind.

XXXXXXXX

William McKinley High School

Spanish Class

Friday, 10.27am

_Oh, please. By the love of Alexander McQueen, somebody spare me._

"Kurt?"

Reluctantly, Kurt forced his eyes – which had been firmly squeezed shut at the horrific travesty taking place before him – open. Mr. Schuester and Finn Hudson were staring down at him from straight above, their towering frames diminishing his willpower to turn a blind eye as they gazed at him with innocent, quizzical looks. The three of them were out at the front of the classroom. Finn and Mr. Schue were standing and Kurt was sitting between them on a chair, facing the class. All stiff and shivering, like their condemned subject. Oh, if only they knew…

"Uh, are you okay, Kurt?" Finn eventually mumbled out. "You don't look too comfortable with this…I thought you liked talking about this stuff?"

Caught unawares, Kurt's trepidation dissipated as he gazed up into the deep brown eyes of the freakishly tall teen above him. The emotion in those eyes was so simple, so heartwarming – naïve concern. In spite of himself, Kurt gave Finn his signature all-lips grin and delicately muttered, "Of course, Finn."

Finn smiled. Kurt's heart pummelled against his chest. Honestly, what _had _he been afraid of? He could do this…it was only a set-up in Spanish class. It couldn't offend him _too_ much…

"Good," Mr. Schue turned back to Finn. "Let's start over."

Kurt bit his lip but took in a deep breath to steady himself.

"Señor Hudson," Mr Schue addressed Finn in a fluttering Spanish accent. Kurt stared adoringly at Finn as the boy continued to stare off into space, waiting for his teacher to continue, clearly not good enough at Spanish to even recognise his own name.

"Uh, Finn." Mr. Schue nudged him slightly in the chest. "That's your name."

"Oh."

Silence. Then…

"Si…" **(yes)**

Mr. Schue patted him slightly on the shoulder and then continued, "Me gusta tu camisa." **(I love your shirt)**

"Me gusta…?"

The class tittered as Finn reached up and rubbed the back of his head, deep in thought (which wasn't very deep, Kurt was sure). Out of the blue, a light bulb flickered on. "Oh, we did this before, right? Uh…Gracias?" **(Thank you)**

Kurt smiled, but gulped. His turn soon…

"De donde es tu camisa?" **(Where is it from?)**

Finn smiled. "Walmart."

Kurt rolled his eyes. _Classy._

"Cuanto fue?" **(How much was it?)**

Now he was bearing the cute lopsided smile. He knew this too! "Diez Dolares." **(Ten dollars)**

_Ten dollars. _Kurt was sickened.

But that was nothing on what came next.

Kurt squeezed his eyes shut again and gripped the sides of the chair, his knuckles turning white, as Mr. S stated, so painfully frivolously, "Esta muy de moda." **(It's very fashionable)**

The diabolical words rung through Kurt's head.

"_It's very fashionable."_

"_It's very fashionable."_

"_It's very fashionable."_

This was killing him. He couldn't listen to this. Oh God. That shirt wasn't even _designer._

And then, Mr. Schue turned to him. "Crees que esta de moda, Kurt?" **(Do you think it's fashionable, Kurt?)**

Kurt could feel the bile rising, but then he looked over at Finn, and the sight of his sweet, oblivious, hopeful face comforted him just a little bit. Just enough to convince him that maybe he wouldn't be saying a sad hello to the great Alexander McQueen within the next few minutes. He turned to Mr. Schue, to see him staring expectantly at him, his eyebrows raised. Kurt rolled his eyes dramatically. He could pull this one off.

"Yes…yes, it's very f…f-"

Mr. Schue scolded him with his reproachful gaze. "Spanish, please, Kurt."

"But-"

"Say that shirt is fashionable. In Spanish, please, Kurt."

Kurt stared at him, wide eyed. In that moment, every word of Spanish he had ever learned dissipated from his head. Crap, how had he _ever_ thought he could do this? He could _not _say that motherfucking piece of shit was _fashionable._It was like saying _Brittany_was motherfucking _Einstein. _It was so _wrong_.

"Say it, Kurt."

Kurt was surprised to hear a threatening edge to the man's smooth voice. He looked away from the window, which he had been staring determinedly out of for the last minute, and looked up at Schue, his heart pounding as his eyes swept across his arrogant features. Maybe Coach Sylvester was right about him. Maybe those deceivingly doll-like curls really _were _the basis of all worldly quandaries, and fashionable pain and suffering in general.

The room was perfectly still. And then...

"Oh, my God…" Kurt squeaked, sliding off the chair and backing away, his blue eyes wide and terrified. "Get that 10-dollar offense AWAY FROM ME!"

Their teacher was strutting slowly towards Kurt, a sense of victory in his stance, a look of pure amusement on his face.

"NOOOO!" Kurt wailed, slapping out his hand defensively. It collided with a reverberating smack to the side of his teacher's face, and Kurt watched, awed eyes unblinkingly wide, as the man's trembling hands reached up to clutch his cheek in agony. A jolt of pleasure had rushed through Kurt at the contact, and all of a sudden, he was enveloped in the sudden desire to pin his teacher down, grab a hold of his face and tear off every last disgustingly greasy curl from his head until he was bald enough to put Bruce Willis to shame.

When he jumped on top of the man and continued slapping at his face so his neck snapped from left to right, little did he know that a certain glassy-eyed cheerleading coach was looking on, and on the verge of stepping forwards to pronounce her undying love for him. That was, until the teen began tugging violently at the long lengths of curls.

"You're coming with me now, Lady Face," she announced, clutching the countertenor in a vice-like grip. "William Schuester's hair is mine to destroy."

Sue attempted to drag him away to her office. Kurt, however, wasn't through with the Glee Club director, and put up a pretty decent fight. A second later, a dozen hands were on him.

What looked like every single Cheerio in the history of the school had come and snatched her share of his body, half-carrying him away from Mr. Schue's frenzied cries of pain. Kurt caught Sue glaring murderously at them and they broke into a manic sprint.

Once in the office, Quinn leapt up and shut the door soundlessly, standing in front of his only chance of escape. Santana released his shirt and tugged at his cheeks in mock adoration, before rocking her head and placing a hand on her hip. "I saw you holding hands with my man earlier, pretty boy."

"He held _my _hand, darling," Kurt reflected sweetly, an equal level of mockery in his tone. "And I'll have you know it's neither of us he's interested in."

"_Bitch!_ Just back off. I thought I made it painfully clear. The. Boy. Is. Mine."

"And this," Sue began, gesturing lazily towards the space in between the two arguing cheerleaders, a deadly smile taking over her face as she surveyed Kurt, "is _exactly _why I knew from the start that he was perfect."

"Perfect?" Kurt's trepidation was replaced instantaneously with intense curiosity. The way she said it made it seem as though she wanted something from him.

"Indeed. Number three, Lady Face. Number three. Remember number three? From our little discussion yesterday? Well, let me expand." Sue drilled her nails on the back of her closed diary absently, which had, so far today, gone unused. "You are…different, Lady Face. I've come across many a two-faced bitchy cheerleader, but there's something about you that is so…_evil…_" she paused for emphasis, "…that it runs deeper in your being…I saw the way you handled those jocks today. The first is a shameless bully so I can understand that one…but the second one...he is such a _kind_ boy, and the way you kept your innocent façade in his presence while you plotted for the jocks to turn against him...he didn't deserve that. And that is why, Lady Face, you are a perfect replica of a young Sue Sylvester, and exactly the type of child I would have in the future if I believed in such ridiculousness. I can see it now. You are going to be exactly what I need as my new _Head Cheerleader,_ and main perpetrator of this mission_."_

Santana's jaw dropped. And stayed there. _"What? _You told _me_ only the bitchiest, snarkiest, _most_ ruthless, _most _conniving and _most _deceitful could play that role." She put on her most threatening glare. "And you're telling me that that person is _not me, _but _Kurt Hummel?"_

Sue just nodded professionally; Santana seethed. Kurt tried to find his voice, but failed.

"Number four, Lady Face. I've been waiting for what feels like years to give you these details. It is agreed by 190 out of all 195 worldly countries that William Schuester's offensive curls are primarily responsible for the collapse of the modern day world. The various lifeforms feeding on each other within those twisting depths - in combination with the thick layers of margarine that encase the smell and, of course, the necessity of additional elves and Disney characters - are responsible for the impairment of the brain waves of both adults and children alike, from miles around. William Schuester is a threat to society that, if left to thrive, could produce consequences of apocalyptic proportions."

Sue paused and began to pace the room. Kurt felt sick, but he wasn't sure if this was because the woman was so hopelessly crazy he felt bad for her, or because a part of him silently agreed with what she was saying and was beginning to sniff out William Schuester's nauseating scent, even from here.

"How do you make milk from scratch? My Mom ran out of eggs," Brittany inquired, immediately lifting the mood.

"You need to know, Lady Face," the cheerleading coach continued as Santana's expression softened and she went over to patiently explain to Brittany the facts of life, _again, _"that the aim of this mission is to eradicate the world of William Schuester's hair once and for all. Are you prepared to participate in the extreme measures required to achieve such an outcome?"

For some reason, Kurt found himself nodding animatedly.

"Excellent. Now, listen closely. This is very relevant information. This afternoon, Schuester will be taken to the school nurse. I will take the responsibility of Glee Club into my own hands and cover for him. There are a number of issues involving the club I need to deal with, as a matter of fact. Make sure you're there. After Glee Club, you will no doubt be unfairly placed in detention for your completely justified attack." Sue beamed. She was ecstatic. Kurt's originally thrill-of-the-moment attack had now become a pivotal aspect of her next move. She was surprised she hadn't thought of it herself. _But then, it just goes to show how closely linked the lady's devilish mind is to mine._

"One last thing," Sue added, brandishing a rucksack before Kurt, full to the brim with clear plastic bottles. He calmly took it from her, but not before giving her a very confused look. "You'll be needing these."

Kurt took out a bottle and held it up; staring, horrified, at the sticky pink gloop inside. It was in a shampoo bottle, but had much too thick a consistency to be anything of the sort. It also had a very, _very _overpowering smell. "What is this?"

The Cheerios exchanged looks behind his back, coming to an agreement that Quinn finally voiced. "Not a notch on the real thing." They all shuddered.


End file.
